


Can I?

by TheBashfulPoet



Series: Andreil Week 2019 [4]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Andreil Week 2019, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, The Sound of EXY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 22:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19754812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: Andrew knew that leaving Neil would have consequences. He just didn’t know they would leave him standing here.Andreil Week Day 4: Concert





	Can I?

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, this one has got to be my favorite of the lot mostly because it is the reason I decided to do Andreil week in the first place and takes place in my Sound of EXY universe. This fic is actually a direct companion to my [no other name (falling off my lips) ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657627)but you can read this as a standalone pretty easily I think. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

Andrew never planned to leave Neil. Never for a second considered that he would ever be the one to walk away from the red-headed storm of a person that fell into his life and changed it for better or worse. He wasn’t strong enough to walk away from the first handful of time during that first year and he certainly thought he wasn’t strong enough now.

And then Neil opened his mouth and asked him for the one thing he knew he may never be able to give. That he could never tear himself open like that again.

_I don’t want to lie anymore._ That’s what Neil had said to him, his blue eyes soft and vulnerable as he bared himself open to Andrew. _I don’t want to lie about us._

But Andrew couldn’t walk down that road again. Couldn’t let himself _want_ that. So, he shut down the argument, let that careful blank mask fall into place as he ignored the pleading gaze of twin blue pools and said a simple no.

He should have known that Neil would never let it be as simple as that. Not when he had seen that fiery tongue of his lash out and tear down others much fiercer than he (something he would never admit to his junkie lest he get the bright idea to _continue_ to do so). Not when Neil knew him better than he knew himself and could tell when he was trying to retreat behind walls. So, he pushed and pushed until Andrew pushed back and they were left at a standstill, chests heaving with anger and hurt until they could barely look each other in the eye.

Andrew moved first, turning on his heels to grab his keys and storming out the door with a slam that shouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying as it was. He ignored the worried look from his cousin and the bored indifferent one from his brother before he stalked through the living room and kitchen to the garage. The roar of the engine felt good, the vibrations rippling through his body in the same angry beat of his heart. Rubber burned the streets as he pushed the vehicle faster and further than he was legally supposed to but the way the world blurred outside his windows made the possibility of any ticket worth it. He let himself get lost in it — letting his anger fester and grow without lashing out at someone undeserving. (Without lashing out at Neil.)

It was stupid. His anger was stupid. What did it matter if people knew that Neil and he were something more than bandmates? That there was something _more_ between them than the nothing they pretended they were in the eyes of the media? He had long since stopped caring about what the media said about him, so why did it matter to him if Neil told them they were… _dating_. And yet the very idea made him sick — twisted something so tight inside him that he had to curl his fingers in fist to stop them from shaking. He hated it, _hated_ Neil for making him feel something as useless as fear.

Because that’s what it was, even if deep down he wanted to deny that he was capable of such a thing anymore. He was _afraid._ Afraid that if he let people see this something between Neil and him then it would fall apart. Afraid that everything would crumble when it finally just felt like the ground settled beneath his feet and those jagged parts of himself dulled and slotted themselves pleasantly with Neil’s own. Afraid that when that happened — without out that stable ground — he would be left falling falling falling without anything to catch him again.

To complicate that — to expose that part of himself for other eyes to poke and prod — it was too much. Too much too fast and _he was afraid_. Because maybe then Neil would finally see the broken pieces for what they are, broken and beyond repair. Maybe then he’d realize that waiting for them to mend and heal was a lost cause. But Neil was as pathetically loyal as he was stubborn, and Andrew knew that he would wait forever if he had to for Andrew to be ready.

_You could leave_ , a tiny voice whispered in his ear. _You could leave and spare him the choice. Make it for him._

And oh, was that little voice _seductive_. Andrew knew that leaving Neil would have consequences. Knew that if he followed through with it, the careful balance the two of them had crafted would come tumbling down and shatter into pieces. That even he would not be able to repair the damage. And yet, when the idea popped in his mind and he didn’t dismiss it as quickly as he would have done before — that for half a second longer he _considered_ it — he knew that he had decided.

***

By the time he stopped driving, the sun had gone down and rose again and the city around him was unfamiliar as it was unremarkable. He pulled into the first motel he could find and bought the first room available to pass out in. The cycle repeated itself for several days, only stopping for gas and to satisfy his needs when they couldn’t be ignored any longer. He texted Nicky on that first night and another to his brother almost a week in, both with the same message: don’t look for him. His phone remained off after that, unwilling to deal with the flood of text and calls that were sure to come when it became clear that he wasn’t coming back any time soon.

Eventually, he runs out of road to escape on, his car coming to a stop before the Canadian border with nothing but water on either side and his passport back home. He finds himself somewhere on the edges of Maine in some city he doesn’t bother to learn the name of. With his options being either driving off the nearest cliff into the water or driving back the way he came (and though the former held a certain appeal over the latter), Andrew decided that fuck-all middle of nowhere Maine was a good enough place to stop as any. So he finds the first motel he can — someplace that has seen far better days if the peeled paint and flickering sign were any clues — and rents a room.

When asked how long his stay would be, he just stared at the receptionist until they slid the keycard forward. The room was thankfully clean, but that’s the only thing it had going for it — not that Andrew cared. It had everything he needed, a bed, a clean bathroom, and silence. The last was the most important as only the void of silence could temper the torrent of thoughts racing through his mind like a hurricane. Deadly and loud. At least in a quiet room, he would let the storm rage on without worry of driving off the road and into a ditch.

Dropping his keys on the dresser next to the door, he sits on the foot of the bed and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes in hopes of alleviating the pressure building there from too many nights of too little sleep. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how many days it’s been since he’s gotten more than a couple hours of shitty sleep curled in the back seat of his car or in some seedy motel room. He couldn’t even tell someone the date if they asked, the nights and days blurring together in a meaningless cycle of light and dark until he had no concept of time. It doesn’t help that he didn’t sleep if he could help it. Not when every time he closes his eyes, he saw red curls and blue eyes. Saw long fingers strumming across a guitar or wrapping around a microphone. Saw pink lips curled in a smile or smirk as they spoke his name. Sleeping meant waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there and having to tell himself that the tightness in his chest was for the best.

With a sigh, he let his body fall back onto the mattress, too tired and numb to care about the errant springs poking in his back nor the lumpy padding of a mattress topper too thin to be much of a comfort to anyone. He presses his hands deeper into his eyes but the pressure doesn’t go away. So he gives up, letting them fall away and letting his eyelids slide open in a slow crawl. Black dots and spots of color fill the edges of his vision and draw his eyes to their dying movements before they disappear and flakes of white come into focus on the ceiling. With another breath, he lets the thoughts swallow him whole until it grants him the mercy of sleep.

Of course, like always, he dreams of Neil.

***

It becomes routines after that; he wakes up — fingers grasping at nothing — he lies around until he can drag himself up long enough for a shower and food, then he stares at the ceiling until his mind goes blissfully blank. He loses days to this pattern, a week even until management knocks on his door and asks if he will be extending his stay. I took nearly all his energy to pull himself from bed and hand them his card with a raspy order to charge it until he said otherwise. They don’t knock anymore after that and Andrew drifts.

***

Eventually even his mind tires of the same four walls and white ceiling, so he pulls himself out of bed and out of the room long enough to drive to the nearest liquor store for whiskey and ice. Sometimes, he even stays out long enough for whole meals at whatever greasy food establishment is open and close by.

What he _doesn’t_ do is turn on his phone, most days not even bothering to grab it from the nightstand and slide it in his pocket. He doesn’t turn on the small tv sitting in the corner of his room. He doesn’t glance at tabloids or newspapers. And he absolute, 100%, doesn’t listen to the radio. Not in his car, not in the liquor store, and definitely not in his room. The radio meant music and where there is music EXY is only so far behind — the band’s fame and notoriety only skyrocketing with Riko’s demise and the release of their last album. Music meant Neil and Andrew was already plagued enough by his own mind that he didn’t need a second reminder.

So, he cut himself off from the world, creating a silence only penetrated by his own intrusive thoughts and the clink of glass when he pours himself another drink. The irony of it all is almost enough to make him laugh. Two years ago he had called Neil a runaway but here he was the one running. Somewhere karma is laughing at him.

He cheers the ceiling with his half-filled glass of whiskey and downs it all in one go. That night he dreams of Neil’s smile.

***

The lesson Andrew learned earliest in life is that life isn’t fair and it certainly isn’t kind. He learned it at age 4 when his foster parents starved him because they didn’t believe in indulging more than the bare minimum for survival. He learned it again at age 5 when the kids on the playground made fun of his hand-me-down clothing and the fact he didn’t have real parents. He learned it when after the age of seven the word No stopped holding the power it once did. Life wasn’t fair and it certainly wasn’t kind.

But even so, it really liked to kick Andrew down when he already hit rock bottom. Perhaps that is why when he is stuck in line waiting to order his food he catches the snippets of the conversation two girls have — rather obnoxiously and loudly — in front of him.

“Did you see the video?!”

“What video?”

“The one with Neil! What _other_ video would I be talking about?”

Andrew stiffens at the sound of the name, his attention peaking even as he tries blocking out the rest of the conversation.

“I literally have no idea what is coming out of your mouth half the time.”

“Neil Josten? Leading vocals for EXY? The love of my life and the man I want to have my babies?”

The other girl huffs. “Yeah, I got _that_ part. What video are you talking about? Did he rip into another reporter again or something?”

“ _No_ , though I wish! I could watch that man go off for days.”

“I know, I’ve seen your youtube watch history.”

“Judgey.”

She shrugs, “So if not that then what did he do this time?”

“That’s the thing! He didn’t do anything really, or well he _did_ but also he didn’t because the video wasn’t about him but something he did-”

“English dude.”

The first girl sighs heavily. “ _Basically_ , someone uploaded a video of him playing a new song and the internet collectively lost its mind because it’s so different from what he normally does — _he was so different_ — and my god it’s…” she trails off.

“It’s what?”

The next words are so soft Andrew almost misses them completely.

“It was so _sad_. I don’t know what happened but he dedicated the whole thing to-”

He never gets to hear the rest of her sentence, their conversation interrupted as the cashier calls for next in line. Her words still rock Andrew’s world to the core and opens the floor below his feet.

_It was so sad_.

Time blurs and the next thing he knows he’s standing in his motel room staring at the phone on the nightstand, its glossy black screen reflecting himself back to him. For the first time since he’s left, he finds his fingers itching for the device — needing to feel the weight of it in his palm and connect himself back to its twin in Columbia. But he knows the moment he lets himself power the device on, there will be nothing stopping him from dialing Neil’s number or texting him after too many days of silence. And if that happens, it’s only moments before this will be all over. That he would fall. So, he states at the phone watching it watch him all the while the girl’s voice rings in his head on repeat.

_It’s so sad._

And

_He was so different_.

And

_Dedicated to-_

He grabs the phone and hits the power before he can remind himself what that was such a terrible idea. The screen flickers to life with a white loading screen so bright he must advert his eyes until his blank lock screen greets him. Only then does the device begin buzzing rapidly in his hand as a barrage of notifications of missed calls and text flood his inbox. He waits until the device settles before swiping away the bundle of notifications and drops his thumb to the fingerprint reader to unlock his phone. When the black screen fades he finds the second reason he kept the device off and tucked away.

Neil’s profile fills the screen, the front of his face partially obscured by a raised hand with a cigarette between his fingers but the hint of a smile still poking out from the sides. The cherry red tip of the cigarette sets his whole face aglow making his profile a study in soft light and sharp shadows not to mention the hue complimenting the red shade of the curls that fall ever so slightly over his eyes.

Andrew remembered every second of this moment when he took the picture: the cold chill of the night air as they leaned over the balcony rails, the way Neil had stolen that cigarette from between Andrew’s lips with a smile, how perfect everything seemed in that small bit of time. He had taken the picture not because he was afraid he would ever forget the moment — his mind a trap for all things good or bad in his life — but because he wanted someplace other than his memories to store the enigma that was Neil Josten and the way something as simple as smoking a cigarette could make him _feel_ so much more than he thought himself capable of.

He stares at that photo and feels the yawning hole of numbness and fear pulling at his ankles just waiting to pull him under and for a moment he considers letting it do just that when that girl’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

_So sad_.

He taps the icon for the search bar settling at the bottom of his home screen that opens a window with his keyboard. After sparing a thought on what to search, he opts for just Neil’s name and working from there. He watches the page load and is slightly surprised to find that the girl wasn’t exactly exaggerating when she claimed that Neil’s video broke the internet. The first 10 links all talked about the same video posted the night prior, most theorizing about the video’s contents and the mysterious dedication made in the video’s opening sequence.

He bypasses them all for a video link that takes him straight to the YouTube app. As the video loads, he settles himself on the bed and lights a cigarette, hoping a deep drag and smoke filled lungs will be enough to calm the slight tremble in his hands. When the smoke clears, the video loads and he’s greeted with the infamous dedication: _For Him._

The video played and by the time it was over he had long forgotten his cigarette.

***

Two days later he was sitting in the Fox Studio with no idea why he was there. No, that’s a lie, he knew exactly why he was there — the evidence of it sitting heavy in his pocket. He’s lost count of how many times he’s watched the video, of how many times he’s heard the crack in Neil’s voice and the bang of keys that jar the air at its end despite both sounds seared into his mind after the first watch. And then, just like now, the moment the video ended he was filled with the undeniable _need_ to see Neil.

To see him within arm’s reach. To hear him speak and erase that terrible sound of fingers hitting keys and the crack in his voice as he sings. It was too much like that concert in Binghamton where Neil poured himself at the mic and then just disappeared in a sea of bodies. Too close to the day he almost lost Neil for good and only getting him back a scarred and broken mess after days of torture.

The need to see him is so strong that Andrew didn’t even bother stopping long enough to pick up his card from the front office before throwing himself in his car and tearing out of the parking lot. He drove the 18 hours straight through without so much as a rest stop longer than filling his tank with gas when it hit empty. Now he stood pacing through the studios in Columbia waiting for Neil to answer the message he sent.

It had been 30 minutes and he had yet to receive a reply. He tried reassuring himself that it was just the late hour and that the idiot was probably asleep. Or turned off his phone. Or was ignoring him.

He paces some more and tries smoking a cigarette. But like the three times before, his fingers shake too hard to light up so he crumples the stick in a fist and starts pacing again. Then the door swings open and there standing in the archway is Neil. Something deep inside him clicks in place and it’s like falling except this time he doesn’t think he minds so much.

***

They fight. Neil’s pissed so he yells. Andrew’s angry so he stays quiet. Neil yells some more and Andrew falls harder. But then Neil takes a deep breath and opens his mouth and then Andrew’s not falling alone anymore. Maybe he never really was.

***

Things calm down after that first night. Well, mostly. He has to sit through several lectures from various foxes and even Nicky which he only tolerates because he recognizes the face he fucked up and they looked after Neil in his stead. That and Neil sticks close to his side every time they’re in a room together — not smothering him but just hovering close enough as if to prove to himself that Andrew’s really there. Andrew pretends it annoys him as if he’s not doing the same thing when Neil isn’t looking.

But things eventually fall back into their old rhythm: shared cigarettes on a dusk covered balcony; long days in the studio practicing and being badgered by Kevin about their next album; random shows here and there as EXY or as Foxes; and quiet nights under the sheets with Neil’s chest under his palm and the quiet lull of his breathing pulling Andrew to sleep. Yet, even so, Andrew never forgets that night — never forgets Neil’s words.

_I just want you to love you too._

For a long time Andrew thought himself incapable of self-love, the concept never tangible enough to grasp and understand (he has scars covering both his arms to prove the fact). And even after years of therapy with Bee and the few therapists he’s seen in the years after her, he only ever managed to stop carving the hatred into his flesh and pouring that destruction into other more productive facets of his life. Self-love didn’t come easy. He let himself believe he was the monster everyone feared him to be — at least on some level — even if he could recognize that he wasn’t _just_ the monster.

He felt things. Felt annoyance at Nicky when he wouldn’t shut up about the latest gossip or gushed about Eric for hours on end. Felt anger whenever he saw some paparazzi make rude remarks about Neil’s scars. He felt amusement when Aaron walked in on Neil and him curled together on the couch watching movies and complained that they were hogging the living room. And Neil… Neil made him feel so _many_ things. Things that twisted his stomach in knots, that made it hard to breathe or sent shivers down his spine with the desire and want for _more_. So no, Andrew wasn’t a cold emotionless monster. He didn’t _want_ to be. _He wanted_.

That night after Neil fell asleep tucked against his side, he pulled out his journal and started writing.

***

Stage lights flare to life with the heavy strum of Neil and Kevin’s guitars before fading low as the notes die in the screams of the crowd of people filling the stadium before them. Andrew’s skin is slick with sweat and his hair clings to his forehead even as he tries wiping to away with the back of his hand. The rest of his bandmates are in similar states of disarray, Neil’s bandana soaked through, the back of Kevin’s shirt sporting a deep v of sweat from his shoulders to his lower back, and Nicky’s skin glistening under the lights like he dunked himself in glitter (which he might have for all Andrew knew).

Neil starts to say something into the microphone as the stagehands begin shifting around instruments and equipment to make room for the grand piano at center stage. Nicky and Kevin stay long enough to bid the crowd a goodbye before strutting off stage to wait the last song of the night out of sight. Neil remains front and center talking to the crowd, hyping them up for the final number and giving himself a moment to catch his breath. Andrew knows the excitement is mostly for show, as Neil’s enthusiasm for performing the infamous [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52nfjRzIaj8) is practically nonexistent. But Kevin managed to bully him into closing with it at the end of the show if not to give the fans what they want then to get reporters off their backs about it.

The audience roars over the last of Neil’s words and Andrew stands to make his move. In a quick few strides, he joins Neil at the mic — a ripple of confused and surprised murmuring spreading through the crowd at his appearance. He covers the mic with a hand and leans in close to Neil’s ear to ask, “Yes or no?”

Noticeable confused and just a tinged curious, Neil nods his head yes and it both settles Andrew’s stomach and tightens his chest. Before he can give himself away, he shoos Neil off the stage and turns back to the crowd. He doesn’t say a word, just pulls the mic from its stand and takes it with him to the piano and settles himself on the bench. Sliding the mic into a new stand a confused stagehand brings him, he stares at the keys and plays an ascending melody as he waits for the crowd to settle and quiet. Only then does he lower the microphone to his lips and speaks.

“Here is your answer, Junkie. Infinity and 1 percent.”

Then he [plays](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7r9GXmy565Y).

He doesn’t look at the crowd or Nicky or Kevin or Neil, he just _plays_. And when the final notes hits and his voice fades to nothing, he gets up from the piano and starts walking off stage. A drumbeat in his chest eclipses the sound of the crowd awakening and screaming their pleasure and chanting his name again and again, not that Andrew thinks he would have heard it when his eyes lift and meet Neil’s across the stage anyway. The world narrows down to just them and before he blinks, Neil is racing forward until his body is only a scant few inches from his own. He watches as Neil vibrates with restless energy and the need to touch him but not daring to until Andrew says, “Yes.”

The kiss Neil’s lips capture his in is one part desperation and two parts fierce passion and joy. He murmurs words between small gasps of air before pressing them back against Andrew’s lips, his cheek, his chin, his neck, his shoulder, anything that he can reach.

_You were amazing._

_That was incredible._

_I love you._

_Yes._

_Yes._

_Yes._

_I love you._

Andrew lets these words seep into his lips, his skin, his bones and lets them swallow him whole until he’s falling falling falling. Only this time he isn’t afraid anymore.


End file.
